City of Silk and Steel
by falmariel
Summary: In a desperate attempt of escaping her family, Clary Morgenstern moves away from New York together with her best friend, Simon. But when her new neighbour seems strangely connected with Clary's past, running away is impossible. [I'm rating it M just to be certain whoop.]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Descent

Clary lifted herself up on her toes and wrapped her arms around the taller boy. "I'm going to miss you, Raphael," she said, sighing, and then took a few steps back. It was hard to remember sometimes, that life moved on, ting changed.

" _Dios_ , Clary," Raphael smiled, baring his sparkling white teeth, a sharp contrast against his olive skin. "It's not like I'm moving to another country. You make it sound like I am a dying man. I can always come visit." He shrugged, and Clary knew very well he was right.

"I'm going to miss living next to you. And the smell of burnt food. _Especially_ the smell of burnt food," Clary giggled. Her and Raphael's cooking skills were something they had in common. Clary reached out for the silver cross hanging outside of Raphael's sweater, touching it briefly. Her fingers were soft as a feather over the cold metal. "Well, you take care of yourself, all right?"

Raphael laughed. "I have graduated, I am an old man now," he grinned. Clary nodded, agreeing with them. "Yeah, I think I can spot some strands of greying hair there," she said and pointed towards his inky black hair. Raphael didn't look worried, but still lifted a hand towards his head and brushed it through his hair, making it stick out in all possible directions. He grabbed the suitcase by his feet – few personal belongings, Clary noted, for a person living alone, and, to Clary's surprise, squeezed her tightly to him.

"Gonna miss you, Midget," he said, but there was no rudeness in his voice. "Spanish people," Clary muttered, under her breath. Raphael pretended like he didn't hear her, but began to turn away. It would be strange without him. They had been a quite tight-knit community of international students in the building where she lived, which housed mostly students. Herself, Maia and Simon, her best friend, were all American, but Magnus was from… somewhere in Asia. And of course there was Raphael, but now he was going to move. Clary chewed on her bottom lip.

"Raphael!" she yelled. "Wait!" She jogged up to him. "Who's going to take over the apartment after you? Do you know?" Raphael turned towards her, a little smirk tugging in one corner of his mouth. "Looking to replace me already, eh?" He said, a mocking tone in his voice, and he tried to fake a hurt expression. "I don't know. A boy."

"Wow Raphael, thanks for the enlightenment." Clary rolled her eyes and sighed. "Is that really what you know? The gender?"

"I don't like to pry. People should be entitled to some privacy, don't you think?" He shrugged. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Well, as long as he can make bacon and eggs without burning down his kitchen, he'll be better than you at least." Clary giggled and thought about the one time she had helped Raphael peel off the layer of soot and burnt bacon from his oven. Raphael just smiled. "Well, you'll find out about your new neighbour soon enough. He'll be here later today."

"Really?" Clary said. "But… you just left!"

"Well, the new semester is literally starting tomorrow, so this is last chance to move."

"I guess you are right," Clary said and sighed. "Come over some day?" Raphael nodded. "Sure thing, Midget." He laughed and turned around.

"I am actually over five feet you know, just for the record!" Clary yelled after him, and she was certain she could hear him laugh and saying something softly in Spanish. She sighed and went back into the building, closing the door firmly behind her. Clary looked up at the spiralling stairs over her head. She absolutely loved the place where she lived – yes, it was an old building in serious need of a new layer of paint, and it had been divided up into lots of small apartments, but you could easily see it had once been a beautiful house.

Clary began walking up the stairs and stopped at the third floor. There it was, 3F. Her apartment. She was quite proud of it; she managed to pay the rent all by herself by working part time at a café close to the university, without any financial support from either of her parents. She locked herself in, kicked off her shoes – the best thing about living by yourself was, of course, that you didn't have to clean up all the time. Clary crossed the living room and sat down in the sofa, picking up her sketchpad and pencil. She was trying to figure out the composition for a larger piece she was supposed to hand in in a couple of weeks' time and she just couldn't seem to figure it out.

She envisioned an angel, with massive, soft wings in white and pale gold. His hair was golden too – half long and rumbled by an unseen wind, his torso bare and his face looking at something in the distance, with wonder in her eyes. Even though her subject was positively handsome, there was nothing sexually suggestive by the angel's pose – his gaze was filled with admiration, curiosity and awe. But there was something that just… didn't seem to work about it.

She had imagined drawing only in grayscale, but with specs of golden paint for his wings and hair. Clary wanted to capture the surreal atmosphere, but somehow it all just seemed artificial and somewhat cheesy. The idea had seemed good in her head. She sighed, teared out the page from her sketchbook, crumpled it and tossed it behind her. Clary discarded the idea and decided she would have to just come up with another idea.

However, she didn't get to begin as she heard a knock on her door. "Biscuit?" A slow, almost purring voice could be heard on the outside of the door. "The new guy is here." Clary got up from the sofa, crossed the room and opened the door, only to meet Magnus' smiling face. His hair was spiked, each tip electric blue – they had been scarlet red the last time Clary had seen him – he had yellow cat-eye lenses on and was dressed in a shirt which matched hair and tight leather pants. This was surprisingly normal for Magnus's taste, Clary thought and tried to supress a smile.

"Oh, all right," she replied. "Do you know if Simon is here yet?" Magnus shook his spiked head and Clary could almost swear she had seen glitter flying from the black mass of hair. "Nope, haven't heard him at least. My bet is on band practice." As Clary though about it, all the occupants of the building where she lived was quite artistic. The residents she knew, at least. She studied art herself, Simon studied music and Magnus was a drama major. Maia studied Italian, but damn, she knew that girl had a good singing voice.

Clary nodded. "Yeah. He'll be disappointed that he wasn't here when the new guy came – he's just as curious as me," she giggled. Magnus took her arm and they walked down the stairs, but Magnus stopped when they came to a window. Magnus leaned towards it, peeking out.

"Magnus, what are you-"

"Shh," he said. "It's always wise to look at people at a distance first before you get to know them." Clary was about to ask if he had done the same when she had moved in, but didn't bother. She leaned towards the window and felt Magnus leaning over her, almost making her squeeze her face into the cold glass.

"My, my," Magnus muttered, "there's a new hottie in town." If Clary hadn't known better, she would have thought he spoke about the girl down on the porch in front of us. She had long, raven-black hair, pale skin and sported heels that had to be at least six inches tall. Clary was happy she knew better; the girl looked like the kind of girls Clary always had felt a little intimidated by, but she knew Magnus wasn't into that kind of girls. In fact, he wasn't into girls at all.

"Blondie? I don't know Magnus, he seems a little… unapproachable." More like cold, Clary thought for herself. But Magnus hadn't been lying; the man standing next to the black-haired girl had golden hair, was tall and lean, but Clary decided he was definitely athletic – the muscles was clearly defined under his fitted, black t-shirt.

Magnus chuckled. "I didn't mean him either. I meant him," Magnus said and pointed towards a dark haired boy, who stood a few steps behind the two persons Clary had spotted first. Judging from the black hair and pale skin, Clary decided he had to be related to the girl. Making out his features from where they stood were difficult, so Clary just turned around towards Magnus. "Why not?" Said Clary. "I say go for it. You could need a little romance."

"Says you." Clary just rolled her eyes in response.

"Well, are we going to spy on possible new neighbours and rate their looks, or should we go and say something like "hi", perhaps?"

Magnus shrugged. "I don't really mind standing here."

"Maybe your boy has a personality to go with those looks," Clary teased.

"He's not _my_ boy," Magnus said slowly. "Yet," finished Clary with a big grin. Magnus could compete with a Christmas tree about who wore the most glitter, but if you looked away from that, Magnus was very handsome. Magnus smiled towards Clary, took her arm and dragged her down the stairs. Clary had to blink a couple of times to adjust her eyes to the bright day outside when Magnus opened the door. The three persons were still there, chatting loudly with each other while taking out large boxes from a rental car.

"Hi," the girl said, noticing them. "I'm Isabelle. Isabelle Lightwood." She turned towards the boys. "And these two are my brothers, Alec and Jace." There had been no need for Isabelle to say that she and the black haired boy were siblings; the only difference Clary could notice between them was Isabelle's dark eyes and Alec's startling blue ones.

However, she looked confused from the boy, Jace, to Isabelle and Alec. They didn't look anything alike. Where the two of them were fair skinned and dark haired, Jace was all gold. Messy, honey-coloured hair falling down his face in silky ringlets, tanned skin and tawny eyes – a very striking colour, Clary noticed.

"I'm adopted," Jace said nonchalantly when he saw Clary's expression. "My last name is Herondale, not Lightwood." Clary chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek, unable to reply. Magnus was the one to break the silence.

"So, where in the US are you from?" Magnus asked. Clary sighed, unfortunately audibly. "Sorry," she said quickly. "It's just that we are so many from the states here already. It seems like when I moved, the whole of the US decided to come here," she said and rolled her eyes.

Isabelle smiled. "Don't worry about it. And we're from New York." Clary's heart sank. Just please don't know anyone I do and we'll be all right, she thought.

"Except me," Jace shot in. "I'm British." Clary nodded.

"I could actually hear that," she said.

"No way, how could you? My deepest secret is revealed," Jace exclaimed in an exaggerated British accent. Clary rolled her eyes.

"So, which one of you are going to live here?"

"That would be me," Jace said. Clary tried not to scowl. Everything about Jace, from his smirk to his arrogant posture, told Clary that he was far from the calm, silent neighbour she had hoped she would get, but she guessed she had to give the guy a chance. First impressions weren't everything.

"Do you want help carrying the boxes up?" Clary asked in a polite, but slightly reserved tone. Jace looked at her, his eyes skimming down her body. She felt the urge to hide herself and tried to fight it. Jace laughed.

"You'd probably break under the weight of the boxes," he smirked. "You are so tiny."

"I'm not that tiny!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, you are. And I, Alec and Izzy will be fine by ourselves. I don't have that much stuff with my anyways. You could always show us the apartment though?" Jace bent down and scooped up two large boxes. When he lifted them, they almost reached from his mid-waist to his chin, like a small tower. His muscles coiled under the weight, but it didn't seem to bother him more than if he was carrying a small kitten.

Clary rolled her eyes, but nodded. "Fine," she sighed, and turned around towards the building, expecting them to follow. "Where's the elevator?" Jace asked.

"There is none," Clary said happily.

"No elevator?" Jace sighed. "What kind of dumpster is this place?"

"It's no dumpster!" Clary said, anger creeping into her voice. "It has _soul_. Just ask Magnus, he'll agree." She turned around, but he wasn't there – he was standing outside, next to Alec, obviously talking enthusiastically. She smiled for herself. She didn't know why, but she felt Alec could be really good for Magnus, as long as he didn't make him use less glitter. Clary liked the glitter.

"So, here Maia lives," Clary said while they walked past the first floor. "She lives in the first apartment. Next to her there are some Italians, but I can never remember their names. And Sebastian Verlac – he's French. I and Magnus live on the second floor. My best friend Simon is on third, right above my apartment. He was a bit unlucky – he lives next to Madame Dorothea. She's a witch, and _old_ , so I don't really understand why she's allowed to live here." The apartments were originally intended for students only. "Her whole apartment smells of incense."

"You know all the people who live here?"

Clary shook her head. "No, I'm not that good at remembering names," she shrugged. "Or that outgoing, she said to herself, but didn't mention it to the boy. She didn't want to seem like a complete loner in front of her new neighbour. She was intent on becoming his friend, just as she had been with Raphael.

"There's my apartment," Clary said and pointed. "And there's yours, right next to mine."

"Ah… I should probably warn you, you might hear sounds at night."

"Sounds?"

"Come on," he said and smirked. "Screams, moaning, the occasional laugh perhaps…"

"Oh," Clary said in confusion. " _Oh_ ," she said again as she realised what he had meant.

"Yeah, they kind of say it like that. But with my name at the end. Oh Jac-" Without thinking more about it, Clary lunged her arm forward and placed her palm firmly over Jace's mouth. "Please," she begged. She felt his lips moving against her skin, before he realised he tried to speak. It sounded like "they say that as well." Clary tried her best not to gag and removed her hand, not wanting to touch the filthy specimen in front of her.

"Can you take out my keys? They are in the left pocket of my pants." Clary looked at him, his golden eyes challenging. He thought she didn't dare. Well, even if he was a male version of a nymphomaniac, Clary wasn't afraid. God damn it, she wasn't eight anymore; she was over the stage where sexual organs were embarrassing to talk about. She reached forward and felt the fabric of his black jeans against her fingertips. "Nice, you're so short I don't even have to lift this box," Jace said. She could hear the smile in his voice. "That's because I'm bending down, dumbass."

She searched around in his pocket for a few seconds – pockets in boy's jeans were so gigantic. What were they supposed to have in there, anyways? A phone and money, all right, but also a week's worth shopping of groceries? Clary tried to ignore the feeling of Jace's warm skin seeping through the fabric of his pants. A douchebag or not, they were standing very, very close. Clary felt her cheeks flush slightly, took a deep breath to calm her hammering heart, fished out the key and turned quickly towards the door to prevent Jace from seeing her face.

Clary opened the door and entered Jace's apartment. The layout was completely alike hers; a narrow hallway leading into a combined kitchen and living room, with two doors she knew led into a bath and a bedroom. "Home, sweet home, huh?"

Jace nodded and placed the box on the floor, and in the same moment Clary heard someone knock on the door next to Jace's apartment. She looked out into the long corridor. "Simon?" She had guessed correctly; the lanky boy in front of her had short brown hair, kind eyes and a t-shirt a printed on text; "Geek? I prefer the term intellectual badass."

"You have to meet Jace, our new neighbour!" She didn't know why she sounded enthusiastic – Jace didn't even seem that nice. But at the same time, she really _wanted_ to like him.

"Simon, this is Jace. Jace, this is Simon."

Simon smiled to Jace and moved a few inches closer to Clary. "Are you tired?" He usually was after band practice, but Simon shook his head. "Liar," Clary said and smiled fondly at him.

"So Jace… what do you study?" Simon asked the other boy to keep the conversation going.

"Music," Jace said with a smirk. Clary raised her eyebrows – she had to admit that was unexpected. If she could have guessed, she would have thought Jace took a really posh subject, like Law or Business or something. It would have explained the arrogance at least. Simon, however, lightened up. "What kind of instrument do you play?"

"The piano. The ladies loves it." Clary rolled her eyes and could clearly picture it; Jace playing some romantic ballad for a girl, practically drooling over him. "But I am teaching myself how to play the guitar and violin as well."

"Three instruments?" Simon said, a mixture of awe and shock in his voice.

"What can I say? I'm a musical genius."

"I bet he isn't that good Simon. It's better to practice one instrument and specialise in that, than having average skill with three." Simon smiled towards Clary.

"I do music too, you know." His tone was light, but Clary could hear the slight disgust in it. "I play the guitar. Maybe we could play together sometime? I could teach you how to play the guitar, and perhaps you can teach me the piano?"

"Yes, and then we can be soul mates and start our own band!" Jace faked an overly enthusiastic tone. Simon sighed. "I'm going upstairs now. I have a lot of homework, but it was nice to meet you." His voice was flat.

Clary turned towards Jace. "Was that really necessary?" She asked, anger in her voice. She turned around and stormed after Simon, leaving Jace alone. After a while, he slowly turned around and looked around in one of the boxes, searching for something. He hadn't been supposed to lose his control around Clary like that, but there was something about her that made him want to challenge her. Test her limits. Just an unforeseen consequence, but nothing he couldn't handle. Jace felt cold metal under his hands. The gun was made in dark, brushed steel, and Jace wrapped his fingers carefully around it. He had never used it before, but it still felt comfortable to the touch. An extension of his own arm. It's all right, he reassured himself. It's all going to be all right.

* * *

 _A/N: So, this is actually my first proper fanfiction! I am really excited for this, and will try to update as often as I can. I hope you enjoy it, and please tell me what you think xxx_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Into Hell

There was one thing Clary hadn't noticed when she had been inside Jace's apartment, which she only realised a couple of hours later while taking a shower. Hers and Jaces' apartments weren't completely similar; they were mirrored. As water rushed down over her head in small droplets, she realised Jace's bathroom was just through the wall.

She could hear small moans through the wall, clearly a female. Clary paled as she realised what was happening; the rhythmic thumps against the wall and the small whimpers of pleasure. She jumped quickly out of the shower as if the water had scalded her, turning it off. She could hear the moans louder now.

"Man-whore," she mumbled angrily and desperately tried to come up with an idea to get the stupid whimpering to quit. Was their water supplies connected, or did they have a separate water tank each? Clary walked over to her toilet, wrapping a soft, white towel around her in the process. She flushed it, and chuckled devilishly as she heard a high-pitched scream through the wall, the only kind of scream that can be produced if you either are about to get murdered or if you get a flood of icy water poured down your back.

"Damn it!" She heard Jace's voice, and as an ugly stream of swearing could be heard, she exited the bathroom.

However, she obviously hadn't though her plan through completely. Her bedroom was also wall-to-wall with Jace's, and she could hear them through the wall, loud thumps and moans. Clary shuddered. They were worse than horny rabbits. She rolled to one side and pressed a pillow over her head, unable to block the sounds out. She had class early tomorrow, and she sighed and tried to prepare herself for a sleepless night.

o.O.o

Clary was unable to remember the last time when she had slept this badly. When her alarm went off, she dragged herself out of bed and walked slowly over to the bathroom. When she met her gaze in the mirror, she sighed. Her eyes were a dull, lifeless green, with the century's largest rings beneath them. Clary groaned; she definitely looked like she hadn't slept in a thousand years.

Her hair fell over her shoulder in large, red tangles. She grabbed her hairbrush and tried to run it through her hair, but it was hopeless. If she were to fix it properly, it would take ages. Clary picked up a hair elastic she had left on the sink earlier, and put her hair up in a messy bun. It hid some of the state her hair was in, at least.

Looking at the clock, Clary let out a small shriek. She was late, so late. She shrugged on a vintage, moss-green dress that went just beneath her knees. Back in New York she had been a sneakers-and-jeans-person, but the temperatures here were much too warm for that. The rolled up sleeves of her dress still made it look pretty casual.

The main reason why she wore dresses was, after all, the short amount of time she used to take them on. Slipping on a pair of black shoes and grabbing her favourite backpack, she ran out of the door, heard the click when it locked and continued quickly down the hallway.

 _Meet me at the cafeteria after lesson?_ Clary texted Simon while she turned towards the stairs. Simon usually had classes later in the day, that bastard. Clary's stomach made some unhappy noises, but she pushed her discomfort away. There hadn't been any time for breakfast, so she would just have to survive the first lesson. "Well, you look tired." Clary looked up, only to meet Jace's golden eyes. Clary snorted.

"You look quite similar to a raccoon yourself," Clary said venomously. "I take it you slept well?"

"I was awake the whole night," Jace said and smirked, and Clary had to turn away in disgust. "Though I think something's wrong with my shower." He glared at her. He knew. Clary felt the urge to giggle.

"Oh no, how terrible," she said in a sweet and innocent voice. "May I suggest that you talk with the landlord?"

"Don't be so formal, Clary," he groaned. She just rolled her eyes and continued walking down the stairs. "Are you going to the University?" He urged on. Clary nodded shortly; she was still mad about how he had treated Simon. No one treated her best friend like that. "Me too. I'll walk you there… if you can keep up with my long, elegant strides, that is." Clary pulled an ugly face.

"Are you always this narcissistic?" She snorted.

"Are you always this grumpy?" He retorted.

"Well, it is your fault I didn't sleep anything tonight," she snapped. He didn't reply; only smirked. Clary made a disgusted noise and picked up her pace. The hot morning sun warmed her skin in a pleasant way that made her mood a little brighter. In the distance, she could see the Cathedral; its red-tiled roof contrasting the pale blue sky over them. Jace strolled alongside her casually, having no problems keeping up with her pace.

"So, why did you decide coming to Florence for university?" Jace asked. Even though Clary thought she could hear curiosity in his voice, she believed he only talked to her because she didn't want him to. He wanted a reaction, teasing her, challenging her. She decided to stay calm. He wanted her angry, so she wouldn't give him the pleasure.

"I study art, hello," she said, like the answer to his question was completely obvious. And, she added silently in her mind, it _was_ quite obvious.

"I mean, this is the birthplace of the renaissance. All the great artists lived here – Michelangelo, Botticelli, Da Vinci…" Clary thought about the Uffizi gallery and remembered that she hadn't been there in a while. If she didn't get too much schoolwork, perhaps she could go there this weekend? And hey, she needed all the inspiration she could get as well – her creative juices hadn't flowed as they usually did lately. "What about you?" Clary said quickly, interrupting her own thoughts.

"I just like the heat," Jace said. "I have a weakness for hot stuff."

" _Hot stuff_?" Clary arched an eyebrow. "Really?" That just sounded so stupid. Jace only looked over at him. He was dressed in dark grey jeans and a black fitted t-shirt – had he worn the same two days in a row, or did he only have black t-shirts? Clary noticed some black, swirling lines twisting down from the hem of his t-shirt to his elbow. In between the lines, Clary could see a couple of white birds with long, elegant necks – Herons, she realised. The white of the birds stood out gorgeously against his golden skin and the black lines.

"I like your tattoo," she said. "It's very well made." She hated tacky tattoos – especially the ones with lame quotes or poorly done tribal art.

"Of course you love them. All the chicks do." God, it was impossible to give this guy any sort of compliment – his ego shot sky high every time.

"You know, guys who brags about their sexual conquests usually does it to hide their insecurities."

"If you doubt my abilities to getting girls into bed, I can make it very difficult for you to get any sleep the next couple of nights."

"As much as I appreciate your offer, no thanks." Clary crossed her arms, and was grateful they walked over campus now.

"Or," Jace said with a smirk, brushing a hand through his hair, "I have an even better idea."

"Oh?" Clary said, suspiciously.

"I could always get _you_ to scream my name."

Clary's head boiled, and for a moment she lost all control. She whirled around, and a loud noise could be heard as her palm hit his cheek. Her hand stung with itchy pain, but she felt more relieved than she had since she had woken up today. Turning around on her heel, she began walking fast up towards the university's entrance.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry for a slightly shorter chapter, but this is the best place to cut this chapter and well, I'm tired and want to go to bed. I didn't realise before now that I hadn't mentioned that the story takes place in Italy. And I changed the dates a bit, in the first chapter I mentioned that uni started in a couple of weeks, but I changed it to... one day, heh. Oups. Hopefully you all will forgive me c: I have fixed the first chapter now though!_

 _Please tell me what you think about the story so far! xx_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Easy

Clary looked down at her canvas with a miserable expression. Bold, coloured streaks of paint coloured it, but she wasn't happy about it. There wasn't really anything wrong – her technique was flowing and her motive – Florence in the sunset, with its red-tiled roofs, pale, green-blue hills and soft, orange sunset was gorgeous. But still, the painting seemed boring in her eyes. Just a regular painting, nothing special about it.

"Are you all right, Clarissa?" Her teacher walked towards her, sneaking past easels and students with paintbrushes in their hands. "You seem… distracted."

"It's nothing, Mrs. Moretti," Clary said and tried to force herself to smile. She had always loved her art teacher; a curvy, short woman with grey-streaked hair and dark, sparkling eyes.

"You always seem so relaxed in my classes," she said slowly, her soft, Italian accent making her words sound like parts of a poem. "But now, you seem… tense. The way you are holding your paintbrush? You're holding it like a weapon."

"But Mrs. Moretti," Clary retorted, "You always say that art _is_ a weapon," she teased and smiled, but knew that the smile didn't reach her eyes completely.

"Yes, to provoke, to inspire, to feel passion… but not to actually murder your canvas," she said. Clary sighed.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, and eased the grip on her paintbrush.

Mrs. Moretti just smiled and fluttered towards another student. Clary watched as she spoke; her hands gesticulating elegantly. Looking at people who are talking about something they are passionate about was always so fascinating, Clary thought. Mrs. Moretti looked towards the clock which hung on the wall and – "Sorry guys, class ended five minutes ago! Please clean up your workspace, and remember to work on your piece – you have to hand it in in exactly two weeks from today!"

Clary sighed. While cleaning her paintbrushes in the sink, she desperately searched her mind for ideas, but it was completely empty. Maybe she could ask Simon? No, he would only suggest that she should draw fan art of Zelda or Naruto.

Almost feeling disgusted over her lack of creativity, she exited the classroom swiftly. When Clary entered the only cafeteria they had on campus, she quickly spotted Simon by a table, already waiting for her. She noticed two cups of coffee and some bagels by his side, and she tried to supress a smile. Simon was always so thoughtful.

He was dressed in washed out jeans that was slightly frayed at the hem and a black t-shirt with a graphic print of Darth Vader saying "Your Empire needs YOU!" She smirked. Clary had always thought he perhaps would cease wearing all those shirts as he grew older, but he didn't. Simon basically dressed the same way as when he was five, but Clary liked it.

"Nice T-shirt," she said and slid down in the chair opposite him. Simon grinned.

"Oh, wipe of that smug grin Lewis, it really doesn't suit you," she growled, but there was a playful tone in her voice. "Thanks for the coffee by the way – my caffeine levels are desperately low and I don't feel like standing in _that_." She pointed a finger towards the mile-long queue. Clary took a sip of her coffee and moaned with pleasure when she felt the hot liquid filling her mouth, and she immediately felt more awake.

"Clary," Simon groaned.

"What?"

"You're making that noise again."

"What noise?" She stared at him with wide eyes.

"You sound like you're having sex."

"How can you offend coffee like that? Coffee is _way better_ than sex." Simon just rolled his eyes at her. "Speaking of sex, by the way…" Clary began. "Jace… well, he _christened_ his apartment yesterday, if you get my point." She scowled. "I didn't sleep all night."

"That bastard!" Simon exclaimed, and Clary nodded. "Yeah, he's such a dick. I confronted him about it this morning, and he didn't even apologise."

"Never liked him," Simon said in disgust.

"Me neither," Clary replied, and she could see that Simon was clearly pleased with her answer. "Oh and Simon, do you have any plans this weekend?" Simon shook his head and looked over at her. "No, why?"

"I was just wondering if you wanted to go with me to the Uffizi gallery," she said sweetly.

"Clary, _again_?"

"Pleeaaaaaaaase?" She begged. "I really need some inspiration! We have this huge hand-in in art and I am so drained of inspiration."

"You know you can just google all the paintings in the Uffizi gallery, right?"

"Simon!" Clary gasped, like he had said something heretical. "It's not the same! And the atmosphere, the people…"

Simon rolled his eyes. "Fine. I really must love you." Clary giggled and snapped a bagel from the plate in front of her.

"As long as you continue to buy me coffee and bagels, I guess I love you too."

"Gold digger," Simon snorted. Clary nodded. "Yeah, if I can't establish myself as an artist within the next couple of years, I could always marry some rich, hot guy." Simon almost chocked on his coffee and coughed hard, when Magnus appeared out of seemingly nowhere and sat down in a chair. He snapped Clary's coffee cup out of her hands, took a sip and gave it back.

"Thanks biscuit. Drama is _so_ exhausting, you two have no idea." He waved a hand. He ran a hand through his hair, glitter flying everywhere. "You two are coming to our performance, right?"

"Of course!" Clary exclaimed enthusiastically. Magnus was such a drama queen sometimes, but he was actually a really good actor.

"What piece are you playing?"

"Romeo and Juliet! And guess who's got the part of Romeo?"

"Oh, that's great Magnus!"

"No, because I have to kiss Juliet." He sighed.

"I'll do it for you," Simon said.

"Nah, you would have giggled while doing it."

"I would not," Simon mumbled, but Clary though she saw him flush a little. To reduce the level of embarrassment to a minimum for her best friend, Clary said; "Simon, don't you have a class in a few minutes?"

Simon quickly looked at his phone to check the time, nodded and jumped on his feet. Clary snapped up his school bag and gave it to him. "Thanks for the coffee and the bagels."

"Any time," Simon replied and ruffled her hair. As he left, Magnus leaned over the table.

"So, how are you coming along with your neighbour?" He asked, his eyes - yellow lenses today, Clary noticed - stared intently at her.

"Why?" She asked suspiciously and frowned.

"I want you to convince his friend to come to Romeo and Juliet." He said simply.

"Why don't you do that yourself?" Clary asked and cocked her head to the side in confusion.

"Because you are the neighbour of his brother." Magnus said in a logical voice.

"But so are you," Clary pointed out. "You live on the same floor at least."

"But I can't stand him," he said and studied his nails, perfectly filed and painted a dark green. "Pretty please? For my love life?" Clary snorted.

"Fine," she said. "But you'll owe me one."

"That's a deal, biscuit," he said and smirked.

.o.O.o.

The rest of the day at university went along fairly quickly. She walked home alone - Simon had stayed behind at school today as well to practice with his band. She smiled for herself, happy that he had managed to find friends that quickly.

Clary had worried slightly when they had moved; Eric, Matt and Kirk were his childhood friends after all, even though their band hadn't been much to brag off. Simon still kept in touch with them one in a while, but honestly, he did much better without them and the band he had joined produced actual music instead of fighting over band names. The evening sun was warm, and painted the skyline in burning red and orange.

When Clary locked herself into her apartment, she put her backpack gently on the floor and peeled off the layers of her clothes until she stood on the flood barefoot in only her panties. Clary had never liked being naked even in her own apartment; she just felt too exposed.

Clary slipped into her room, and slipped on a black tank top and pyjamas shorts, then went out to the living room and opened the door that led out to the stamp-sized balcony to let in some fresh air. Clary sat down on the sofa, found Spotify on her phone turned her favourite playlist on shuffle and picked up her sketchpad. Soft tones, mixed with the scratching sounds of graphite pencils on paper, filled the room.

.o.O.o.

Clary suddenly woke when she heard a soft thump outside, on the balcony. She sat up quickly, looking over the edge of the sofa to see what was on the balcony. A hunched form, misshapen and only a black silhouette against the dark blue sky outside. Clary squinted in an attempt to understand what it was. It raised up, slowly, on two feet.

A person, and judging by the height, a man. She heard a soft chuckle. Searching for the closest thing she could defend herself with, she grabbed a ruler and rose slowly. Her see-through, white curtains fluttered lightly in the wind, covering the person out on her balcony. He stepped forward.

A burglar, Clary was certain, and she realised with a jolt of panic that she was about to be robbed, and how stupid she had to look with the ruler in her hand, lifted as if it was a sword or a baseball bat. Her heard throbbed against her chest, and felt painfully swollen. The person took a step forward, yanking the curtains to the side.

"Leave, or I'm calling the police!" She shouted, and winced when she heard her weak and frightened voice. Toughen up, Morgenstern, she said to herself.

"Fuck, I'm sorry Clary!"

"Jace?" She said. "What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"

"A more fitting question would be what you are doing with that ruler. Is it supposed to be a weapon? If you are supposed to defend yourself, you can't hold it like-"

"Jace!" Clary snapped, hardly in mood for his advice about how to hold a ruler properly. "Tell me why you are in my apartment!"

"Erm, I locked myself out of my own and when I saw the open door, I thought I might have forgot to close it and thought it was my lucky day."

"But…" Clary said. "How did you get up here? We are on the third floo

"A magician never spills his secrets," Jace said with a smug grin and ran his fingers through his hair to swipe some stray curls away from his eyes. A chilly gust of wind found its way through the door and Clary shivered, suddenly conscious about how much skin she was showing. She discretely crossed her arms over her chest.

"So, what is your Plan B to get into your apartment?" Clary said slowly.

"This was my Plan B," Jace said in a light tone. "I already went and knocked on the porter's office but he's gone home and tried to ring the landlord, but nobody picked up the phone. They are the only two people with a master key, so I won't get into my apartment before tomorrow."

"You have no idea how tempted I am to say you'll have to sleep in the hallway tonight, but as the kind and generous person I am, I'll let you crash on my couch tonight."

Jace seemed almost surprised. "Thanks," he said, and sounded genuinely happy.

Clary narrowed her eyes. "If you try _anything_ though, _anything_ at all, I'll draw drag make up on your face with my permanent sharpies. And stick them through your eyeballs when I'm finished." She smiled sweetly towards him, and her smile widened into a grin when she saw the slightly shocked expression on his face.

Clary went over to the sofa and cleared away her sketch book and pencils, and placed them gently on the table. Inside her room, she found an extra blanket and a pillow. When she returned to Jace, she handed him the things, slightly awkwardly. No guy, with the exception of Simon, had ever slept over at her apartment before. She studied his face; he was all sharp, angular bones, but his features were softened by long lashes and a mouth which was currently curled up in a little half-smile. Moonlight gave his eyes and hair a silver tint. He looked like an angel.

"Thanks," he murmured. It was strange, Clary thought, how a person could infuriate her so much one moment, and then their presence could feel so… natural. He took the pillow and blanket from her arms, and Clary sucked in her breath slightly when their skin touched; his felt warm, almost burning against her own. She looked up in his eyes – the gold seemed so warm, intense and wild, and she-

Clary broke away, walking over to the balcony door and closing it. Get yourself together, Clarissa, she told herself. She turned around, facing Jace again, who still held the blanket with an oddly blank expression.

"Good night, Jace." She said, then went inside her bedroom and closed the door. First when it had shut behind her, she let out a breath.

* * *

 _A/N: So, what do you all think? I am sorry for the kinda slow pace in the beginning, but I promise it will get better soon!_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Clary woke from her alarm. She groaned and rolled over to the side, knowing that she could give herself a few extra minutes in bed today. Her first class today started ten to twelve, so there wasn't any hurry. Clary always enjoyed waking up a bit early even though she had classes later, as she could just lie down on the couch with a large, nice breakfast and just watch TV, read or draw which wasn't for art class – something which has happened rarely lately.

When Clary walked into the living room, wearing her pyjama bottoms and an oversized, soft sweater. Clary had had the sweater since her 14th birthday – it had been a gift from Simon. The sleeves were frayed and the fabric had become very thin around the elbows, but she adored it. Jace lay sprawled on the sofa and looked to Clary like a tangle of long limbs, bare chest and soft hair.

Clary rolled her eyes softly when she heard the soft snoring, and wondered whether she should fetch an ice-cold glass of water and throw it at him or not. But when she saw his face, so peaceful and rid of all worries, she decided not to. He could wake up when he wanted. And, Clary added, if he missed a couple of classes due to oversleeping, she could gain some sort of evil satisfaction from that.

Clary opened the fridge and searched for something to eat. She really didn't feel like eating toast or cereals or anything like that today, and when she spotted about half a leftover pizza, she grabbed it enthusiastically and turned on the oven to warm it up. Clary didn't have a microwave, and although she could have had good use of one, student life made her money tight right now. And she loved her trusty ol' oven anyways. When it was warm enough, Clary showed it in impatiently, her stomach making a growling noise. She looked at the little clock on the oven. The red, digital numbers were slowly counting down.

8 minutes and 48 seconds left.

Clary sighed and walked over to the table by the sofa, where she had yesterday's newspaper. She knew she could read the news on her phone, but having a paper copy was so much better. She had also gotten it for free when she bought her coffee. Jace still lay on the sofa. His chest rose slowly with deep breaths. He seemed so calm, and Clary wondered if it was actually allowed to be that pretty when you were asleep. It should be illegal, she thought.

Clary knew that when _she_ slept, she sometimes drooled a little. Also, her hair looked like a bird's nest and she often slept in the foetal position. She knew all of this way too well – Simon had given her photo evidence. At least she didn't snore, like Jace, Clary tried to comfort herself with. She smiled a little, but quickly stopped and turned away with the newspaper in her hands. There was no way Clary was going to stand like that, smiling, in front of her womanising neighbour – that might give him the wrong ideas.

Walking over to the kitchen counter, Clary opened the newspaper and skimmed through it. Nothing really interesting. It was a national newspaper, and as this was Clary's second year living in Florence, her Italian wasn't all that good yet. In the international section she saw something about the American presidential election, but flipped the page over quickly. She didn't want to associate herself with home anymore. It wasn't even home anymore; this was now. Italy and Florence was where she belonged.

One case caught her eyes though; a tourist had gone missing, not far away from her neighbourhood. His name was Pangborn. There was something about the name that seemed familiar to Clary, but she couldn't remember where she had heard it before. It was written that the family had notified the police of his absence as he hadn't returned to the hotel where they had stayed the evening before.

Clary shook her head and closed the newspaper. Walking slowly over to the table again to avoid waking Jace, she grabbed her sketchpad and pencils, and walked back to the kitchen counter. Letting the room be filled by the satisfying sound of graphite pencils scratching over paper, she looked over at Jace. What a dork, she thought, but couldn't resist smiling. What kind of person locks themselves out of their own apartment anyways? When he woke up, they would go straight down to the porter's office so he could open Jace's door. No way she was letting him sleep one more night at that couch. Yes, he had promised not to do anything, but she didn't really trust him.

Looking down on her sketching pad, she realised with shock that she had, without thinking any further about it, been sketching Jace. She had captured his angular jawline, those high cheekbones and soft mouth. Clary almost gagged. "Get a grip, Morgenstern," she whispered angrily to herself. With a hasty motion she tore the page out of her sketchpad and crumpled it together.

"What's that smell? Did you fry a cat?" The sleepy voice originated somewhere deep in between her sofa cushions.

"Oh, shit! The pizza!" Clary whirled around and opened the oven. She didn't understand why it had become burned – it was still one minute until it was supposed to be finished. It wasn't too bad, though – the crust was almost charred on the pieces closest to the heat, but otherwise the pizza was mostly unharmed.

"You know," A voice began behind her, "You have put the temperature at least 50 degrees Celsius above what it should be."

"Oh," Clary replied lamely, her voice sounding almost defeated. She turned around, only to face a very bare-chested and very muscular Jace. Clary felt heat rushing to her face. "I…" She stuttered, but didn't manage to finish her sentence. He was too close. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Clary whirled around, and almost ran over to her sofa. She found his shirt, laying crumpled on the floor and walked back to Jace.

"Here," she said, and pushed the t-shirt against his chest. "No one is naked in my house, not even me."

"Clary, I am not naked," Jace said slowly, almost as if she was a child.

"Well, you don't see me walking around here bare-chested, do you?" She said impatiently.

"No, but I'd certainly like to." He grinned.

"Do you want breakfast or not?"

"If the choice is between seeing you naked or eating that burnt pizza, I'd rather go hungry," he said.

"If you are offending my cooking, you won't see anything either way," Clary replied quickly and made a face. She found two plates and grabbed a couple of pizza slices for herself, and went over to the chair close to the television. She chose the chair mainly because it would make it impossible for Jace to sit next to her, if he decided to join Clary. He didn't though; instead he sat down on her kitchen counter.

"You know I have chairs, right?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"Are you… going to sit down on one?"

"Nope."

Clary rolled her eyes as he slowly ate the rest of the pizza.

.o.O.o.

It was already dark outside. Clary couldn't wait until she got home – her classes had been exhausting today. She was going to take a long, warm shower – and hopefully use up all Jace's hot water in the process, and then make herself a kettle of coffee. She felt like she deserved it.

At least she didn't have that much homework, she though and smiled for herself. The street was dimly lit by lights pouring out from windows, otherwise it was dark. The half-moon was pale and white, a colour which reminded Clary of milk. Everywhere there were small, narrow streets and alleys. Clary approached one of them; she would shorten her way home by several minutes if she went through this particular one.

It was as if all colours were sucked out of the world when she entered the narrow passage; everything was in varying shades of grey. Clary heard her steps echoing between the houses. A stray cat meowed in the distance. Clary walked faster. She was eager to get home, and there was something about this alley that kind of creeped her out. She had never walked through it this late; she had been at the university waiting for Simon, hoping that he would finish band practice early so they could spend some time together. Simon was always so busy these days – sometimes it felt like he was practically living at campus, practicing all the time.

There was someone in front of her. Clary recognised it as a man immediately – even while sitting she could clearly see that he was tall and broad shouldered. Sitting on the ground, leaning his back into the wall. It almost looked like he was asleep.

"Hello? Are you all right?" Clary felt as if someone was staring at her back, but when she turned around, there was no one there. She walked closer to the man and pulled her jacket closer around herself. The man didn't reply.

"Are you –" She sucked in her breath. The man's eyes were wide open and empty of all emotion. His lips, turning grey, were slightly parted. Clary's gaze travelled down his face, his chin, his neck. Right below his Adam's apple, there was a deep gash. A syrupy fluid, turned black by the lack of light, slowly pumped out of the wound. Clary stopped breathing for a moment. She wanted to close her eyes, look away, but her gaze seemed fixed to the wound. It was a clean cut, parting his flesh in two. Inside it she thought she could see something white. Bone. Clary quickly turned away and gagged. Nothing came up; she hadn't eaten anything for a couple of hours.

She blinked a couple of times, as if to banish the vivid image of the man which had burned itself into her eyelids. Clary had recognised him immediately; the man from the newspaper this morning. Pangborn. Her breath hitched, and she tried to think clearly, but it was as if her head was filled with cotton and ice-cold water. Don't panic. Don't panic. Slowly reaching into her pocket, she found her mobile. When she lifted it, her palm was so sweaty that she slipped it, down onto the hard ground.

"Fuck," she whispered and bent down. Again she felt as if someone was staring at her, following every move she made. Clary looked over her shoulder. No one there. "Clarissa, this is not the time to hyperventilate," she told herself. Although her voice was shaky, it was good to hear someone talk. She picked up her phone. Not broken, thankfully. She dialled the number quickly.

"Polizia?" The man who answered her had a dark, calming voice.

"I found him," Clary immediately replied in English. "Pangborn. He's here. He's…" Her stream of words stopped. She couldn't manage to say the word. Dead. Murdered. Both of them seemed so harsh, so cruel.

"Please come." When the police officer asked, she quickly gave them the street name of the alley. "Prego," she said in Italian, the words stumbling in her mouth. "Affrettatevi. Prego."

The police was there only a few minutes later. She could hear the sirens, the loud thump when a car door was closed. Two police officers ran towards her. One of them stopped by her, while the other went over to the man. To Pangborn.

"Are you all right?" The first asked her. She nodded slowly, not sure if her voice would carry.

"Did you see who did this?" Clary shook her head.

"No," she said, stuttering a little. "There was no one here."

He nodded slowly, then walked over to the other police officer. They mumbled in Italian; it was too quick for Clary to follow. She felt a little dizzy.

"I am taking you home." The police officer grabbed her gently around the arm and lead her towards his car. She could see a couple of other blue and white cars marked "polizia" parked there on the pavement; reinforcements. Clary shivered. All she wanted was to be in her own bed, under all the sheets and blankets she could find. Make a pillow fort, like she and Simon had done so often when they were small, and never, never leave it.

She told her address to the officer when he asked. He nodded, and looked thoughtful. The next couple of minutes went by quickly. Clary had to blink several times when she realised they were there, in front of her door. The officer knocked on the door. Clary frowned, not understanding why he had knocked. She was standing right there. Maybe he thought she lived together with someone?

But it wasn't her door he had knocked on. A mess of golden hair appeared in the doorway. "Yes?" Jace answered questioningly.

"She shouldn't be alone right now. Can she stay the night with you?" For a moment, a millisecond, Clary hoped that he would refuse. She wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or frustrated when he nodded, and pushed the door open to let her into his apartment.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry for the wait! I just realised in the end of the half term holiday that I still had quite alot of homework left. Ups. I'm an art student - Like Clary! - and it's loads of work heh. Please tell me what you think about this chapter! x_

 _Italian translations:  
Polizia - Police  
Prego - Please  
Affrettatevi - Hurry_

 _Also I'm not Italian, so sorry for any mistakes! 3_


	5. Chapter 5

After Clary had entered Jace's apartment, the policeman signalled to Jace that he wanted to talk with him. Jace nodded shortly, and walked out into the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest, his taut muscles standing out like sinewy cords. The door shut between Clary and the two other men, separating them with a cruel bang.

Clary looked down at her hands. Dried flakes of some rust-coloured substance covered her fingers and hands. It looked almost like some skin disease. Blood, Clary realised. She scratched her hands, trying to get it off, but it stuck harder than she would expected. She kept scratching at her skin, though, the rhythm of the motion seemed to clear her thoughts a bit.

The blood must have come from Pangborn's neck, Clary realised, when she had pushed his jacket away. She recalled the sliced throat, the severed windpipe and ivory-white bone. Clary tried to inhale deeply, but her breaths felt shallow. She had never seen a dead person before, she realised. In movies and such, of course, but otherwise no one. She had never even been to a funeral. Pangborn was the first dead person she had seen in real life. Clary could recall the smell of blood and sweat, mixed in with the alley's scents of cat piss and dampness. She shivered.

Clary jumped and sucked in her breath sharply when she found a pair of warm hands taking hold of her own.

"Clary," a surprisingly gentle voice said. She swallowed hard. Jace. "Stop scratching your hand."

She looked down at her hands, and noticed she had managed to make her skin red and irritated. The skin had even broken in some places. Clary looked up at him, and noticed how she really had to bend her neck to be able to get eye contact. He looked worried, but there was also something else in his gaze. Uncertainty? He stood still for a couple of seconds, not moving a muscle, just holding her hands separated in a gentle, but firm grip. Then, something about Jace's posture became more relaxed. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Clary in a soft embrace.

Clary stiffened for just a moment, before she felt her body almost melt into his. Her legs felt like Jell-O, and she could feel how her shoulders and arms had begun shivering. Her breathing felt hard and sharp, almost burning in her throat.

"Relax, Clary." She could hear Jace's voice, the softness of it. Clary thought it almost sounded like he was pleading, as if he wasn't sure how to comfort her. He tightened his embrace, and Clary could feel the warmth from his hard chest wrapping around her like a soft blanket and his calm, steady heartbeat. Listening to it felt reassuring. It felt like a place where it was good to be. Safe.

"It's going to be all right," He said, and repeated the words again. And again. It became almost like a mantra, a prayer, something Clary could hold onto. The promise of his voice. She turned her face towards his shirt, and felt how the warm tears spilling from her eyes made the fabric wet. Clary felt helpless and stupid for crying, like a little child, but she was unable to stop nonetheless.

Jace stroke her back softly with a hand. Earlier today had Clary considered him only as a neighbour, and a very annoying one. He had been rude and arrogant, even – technically – broken into her house. But when she stood here, with his arms around her, there was no one else she would rather have here to comfort her.

All of this Clary wanted so desperately to tell him, how grateful she was that he had forgotten his arrogant attitude for the evening, and how stupid and childish she felt for crying. But when she tried to open her mouth, her voice only broke into a sob and more tears streamed from her eyes. Jace moved his hand up, let his palm stroke her hair gently and pressed her head to his chest.

Clary let her eyes close for a moment, and tried to forget what had happened. She could feel the smell of Jace; soap and citrus and something she could only describe as sunshine, the warmth of his body pressed against her. But behind her eyelids she could still see Pangborn, his strangely angled body and the ruin his throat had become.

"Clary, come here," he said and pulled her towards the sofa. He held her firmly, one hand on her shoulders and the other secured around her waist, as if he was preparing to catch her if she fell. Clary noted that her legs were, in fact, shaking threateningly. She sat down, curled her legs up beneath her and held her arms around them, staring blankly into the room. Her sobs had stopped, but tears still fell silently down her cheeks. She felt embarrassed, and the urge to hide her face became stronger.

Clary bet her eyes were swollen and red. Looked fabulous, probably. But Jace didn't have any pillows she could stuff her face into, or a blanket she could curl underneath. In fact, his apartment did have very little furniture or things in general.

Looking around, Clary noticed he had absolutely what he needed and nothing more. No pictures of family or friends and no plants. Not even any Playboy-posters, which she kind of had expected for Jace. No clothing lay on the floor and everything looked clean and neat. This place had no personality at all, gave nothing away about its owner. A monk could have lived here, Clary thought, or perhaps a crime lord and this was the apartment he used as a cover, a pretext.

Jace sat down on the couch, facing her. One of his hands found hers and hold her tightly.

"Clary, are you all right?" Clary didn't know. At least she wasn't crying anymore. But she still felt hollow inside, like only a shell was left. A shiver rippled through her body.

"Are you cold?" There was worry in Jace's voice. Clary nodded, slowly. He rose quickly, walked out of the room and returned shortly, only this time carrying a duvet. He wrapped it carefully around her, and with a small grin, he added:

"Don't worry, it's not the one I use. I got a spare one in my closet." The shadow of a smile appeared in the corner of Clary's mouth.

"Thanks." Her voice was raspy and hoarse, and barely audible.

"Clary, I know this is very difficult for you, but could you… could you please tell me what happened?" Jace's eyes were kind, but insisting.

"I…" Clary's voice creaked like an old door. She sounded like one of those ladies who always sat outside of the small café on the corner, playing chess and patting on a pipe. "I was walking home from the university," she began. "And I decided to take a shortcut, because I was tired and wanted to get home quickly. And I found Pangborn in the alley. He was still warm and…" Clary could feel tears threatening to escape from her eyes again, so she looked up, trying to prevent it. One single tear escaped though, and ran slowly down her cheek. Jace wiped it carefully away with a thump and wrapped his arms around her.

"You didn't see or hear anything strange? Or is it anything else you can think of?" _I felt like someone was watching me,_ she thought for herself. _Staring at me, following my movements._ Clary shook her head. She had just been paranoid. Everyone would feel watched in that situation, Clary tried to reassure herself.

"That's all right," Jace said. "It's all right." Clary leaned against his chest, exhausted after crying so much. Her eyes felt sore and her body was still shaking slightly. It wasn't all right, she thought, not yet. But it was beginning to.

.o.O.o.

When Clary woke up, the first sensation that met her was the feeling of warm skin against her own cold hands, a feeling that she could only associate with sleepovers at Simon's from years earlier. She was usually quite cold, and when they slept in his large bed, she usually snuggled closer to him to use off his body heat.

Clary opened her eyes and realised that she had fallen asleep next to Jace, but during the night he had probably moved, so now he laid straight out on the sofa, feet dangling off the edge, and Clary had slept in his lap. Jace's arms were still wrapped protectively around her. His chest rose slowly and his heartbeat was calm and even. Still asleep. She tilted her head a little so she could see his face.

Clary had never been this close to him before, and for the first time, she could make out his features properly. Jace had dark, golden eyelashes that curled against his cheekbones in a way that would make any girl green with envy, and each strand of hair seemed to be in a different shade of blond, and the rays of light pouring from the window behind Jace reflected in his hair so it looked like a halo.

A stray curl had fallen over his forehead. He looked so much like an angel, but Clary knew it was a very special place in hell reserved for him. Or was it? He had been so kind to her last evening. Perhaps the other stuff just had been an act? Clary didn't know for sure yet, but she was beginning to trust him.

"You are staring at me. Why are you staring at me?" If she hadn't seen the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, she could still have heard it in his voice.

"Am not."

"You are."

"How do you know?!"

"As I have told you before, young Padawan, a magician never tells his secrets."

"Was that a Star Wars reference? If you hadn't been such an ass towards Simon, I'm sure you two could have been good friends." Even though he had been so nice to her last night, she wouldn't forgive him for being rude towards Simon. No person was allowed to be mean to her best friend. Jace didn't reply, just opened his strange gold-coloured eyes and looked at her, his gaze steadily fastened on her eyes.

Clary shifted, suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable. She was starting to become aware of how close they actually were. Yes, she had dated a couple of guys before she left New York for Florence, but it had only been brief, and none of them had ever gotten so far as to lie in bed with her.

The only person who had ever slept in the same bed as her was Simon, but they hadn't done that since they were in their early teens. Clary unwrapped herself from Jace's arms, and sat up gingerly, trying to avoid hurting Jace, and all areas below his belt in particular. Straddling his legs, she shoved the duvet around her. Clary was still wearing her clothes from yesterday – an old pair of washed out jeans and a t-shirt, but she felt very exposed still.

"What is it?" Jace stretched beneath her, lifting his arms over his head. He reminded Clary of a very satisfied cat. A playful smile found its way to his lips.

"Not used to waking up in bed with a man?"

"Technically we are on the couch and not in bed," Clary pointed out dryly. Jace's grin widened, and Clary didn't respond. It was her private life anyways. Her stomach growled, and she felt herself blush.

"I guess I'm a bit hungry," Clary mumbled.

"Really? I couldn't tell." Clary shot him an irritated look. "Well, I would make you breakfast, but I'm kind of stuck." He motioned towards her, and Clary remembered that she sat straddled over his legs. "Oh," Clary replied lamely and scooted off the sofa. Jace rose in one swift motion and walked barefoot out into his kitchen. He opened the fridge.

"What do you want? I've got eggs and bacon, if you'd like that." He looked around for a moment longer. "Actually, you don't really have another choice. It's egg and bacon or old, dry bread."

"Egg and bacon sounds great." Looking over his shoulder, Jace grinned towards her and pulled out at least a kilo's worth of bacon. Clary sucked in her breath. "Are you going to eat all that." Jace nodded enthusiastically. "I _love_ bacon. And," he added," I have to eat a lot to keep this fit and healthy." He smirked.

"Pfft."

He found a frying pan and turned on the oven. Soon after the smell of bacon filled the room, and Clary felt water pooling in her mouth and her stomach growling. When Jace finally found two plates and put two eggs and a couple of strips of bacon on hers, she was almost jumping in anticipation. Clary began eating it standing, with the plate on the kitchen counter. She moaned with pleasure. "So. Good," she said. She really hadn't realised how hungry she actually was.

"You eat like a savage, Morgenstern," Jace said, but he was grinning. Clary stopped eating for a moment, unused to hearing him calling her by her last name, but she didn't really mind. Actually, she kind of liked it. Clary shrugged and continued eating. She looked over at Jace, who sat on the kitchen counter with the plate in his lap. She had already finished her portion, but Jace had a small mountain of eggs and bacon left. Sitting on the kitchen counter, he was like a mountain himself, compared to her.

She could hear a knock on the door. "Should I get it?" She asked Jace calmly. "You can finish your breakfast if you want." He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I think it is for you anyways."

She furrowed her brows, but didn't bother asking. Instead she walked towards the door and opened it. A pair of glasses and messy brown hair met her.

"Oh, Simon!" She exclaimed and threw herself at him, locking him in a tight hug. "I am so glad to see you!" He hugged her back and stroked her hair gently. "I am glad to see you too."

"How did you know I was here? I didn't text you or anything," Clary said and felt a little guilty. She loosened her grip on him. Simon nodded his head towards Jace, who was now standing a couple of steps behind Clary. She hadn't heard him moving across the room. "He left a note under my door." Jace must have done it after he had talked with the policeman, Clary thought, and remembered how much time Jace had used before he came back to her last evening.

Clary could still see from Simon's posture that he was very reserved towards Jace, but in his eyes she could see other emotions. Respect and gratefulness. Perhaps her best friend and her neighbours could come to accept each other, at least.

Clary walked towards Jace, making the space between them disappear. She embraced him tightly. "Thank you so much," she whispered. "For everything." His honey-coloured eyes were soft and caring, but there was another emotion there as well, one Clary couldn't read.

Their faces were so close together that Clary could feel Jace's breath on her skin, and his scent of sunshine and lime and aftershave surrounded her. Warmth radiated where is body touched hers. Clary's lips parting a little, blood rushing to her face. They were so close. She only had to move a couple of centimetres before her face would touch his. It felt like electricity moved under her skin, making it impossible for her to move.

Jace lifted a hand to her face, brushing his fingers gently over her face. "Any time," he said. His voice seemed huskier than normally, but still gentle. Like velvet over sandpaper, Clary thought. Aware of Simon's gaze on her back, Clary stepped away, and Jace, obviously aware of the same thing, straightened up. She turned around, towards her best friend again. Just before she closed the door to Jace's apartment, she smiled, trying to put all the gratefulness she felt into it.

* * *

 _A/N: I am so sorry for my absence! I am studying abroad (The only similarities between me and Clary in this story is that we are both studying abroad and are art students - Promise!) and my family came to visit me. So, obviously I prioritised being together with them as I'm not going to see them again until July! Anyways, I hope you can forgive me after this chapter filled with fluffyness 3_

 _This was a sort of transition chapter without much plot, but please hang on as more action will come later! :D Please review to tell me what you think! Muuuch love 3_


	6. Chapter 6

When Simon and Clary were outside in the hallway, the apartment door separating them and Jace, Simon hugged Clary again. "I am so sorry, Clary," he said quickly, "I should have walked with you home. I shouldn't have stayed back at school to practice while I knew you were out there alone." He looked at her, his big, brown eyes reminding Clary of sad puppy eyes.

"Simon," Clary said, and was surprised over how calm she sounded. Inside it still felt like her heart was shattered over and over again and then shoved into a grind. "Please don't blame yourself for this, okay? If you had come with me, you would have _seen_ it too."

"But then we would have been together at least," Simon replied slowly. Clary didn't know what to say to this, but just hugged him tighter. Simon raised one arm and pushed her gently away to get some distance between them, and then studied her up and down.

"You really need to let me buy you a coffee," Simon said. "You look like hell." He smiled, took Clary's arm and then dragged her out of the building.

"But Simon!" Clary exclaimed as they walked down the street, "I haven't showered or changed clothes since yesterday!" Simon grinned. "Well, too late to do anything about that. Your personality has always been like a caveman's, it's just for the better that your looks reflect it."

"Simon!" Clary said with in a menacing voice, but smiled and hit him playfully in the shoulder. This was what she had always loved about Simon; he could make her feel better no matter what had happened. They walked into a small coffee shop and Simon ordered coffee for them both. The young barista smiled as she took Simon's order.

"Are you going to take it with you or sit here?" She asked in a friendly tone, but Clary could recognise it as the I-am-only-polite-with-you-because-you-are-my-costumers-tone.

"We'll take it with us."

"But Simon," Clary mumbled in a low voice, "can't we sit down for a couple of minutes? It's weekend, it's not like we have anywhere to be." Clary hadn't been inside of this café before, but it was very nice; the smell of coffee beans and chocolate surrounded them, and around the tables with white and red cloths sat people chattering happily with friends and family. Simon looked towards the barista, who already had begun on their order. He turned towards Clary, and furrowed his brows.

"Clary, we actually do… I am taking you to the police station. The police need to question you… about what you saw." Simon's voice was low and discreet, which Clary was grateful for. The last thing she needed was to get half a dozen ears tuned in on their conversation.

"Oh," she said lamely, not able to speak for a moment. She didn't even want to think about what she had seen. "But I already told the police everything I knew." Clary's voice had turned weak, and Simon placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "I know, but that wasn't official. They need to do it at the police station." Clary bit her lip so hard that it whitened, but nodded. "I didn't know you had to do it either, but Jace had written it on the note he hung on my door."

Clary breathed out heavily. Jace. She still felt she needed to thank him properly, she just didn't know quite how. She did thank him, but it didn't feel like it was enough. If Clary would have had to stay alone that night, she wasn't sure what she would have done. Well, she was kind of forced on him by that police officer, but he could still have said no. Could he not? And any ways, he didn't need to comfort her until she fell asleep. Right?

Simon gave her a steaming cup of coffee and smiled to her. "Ready?" He asked, a small smile playing in the corners of his mouth. Clary could see that he was slightly worried, but he tried to hide it. Clary decided not to say anything. Clary shook her head quickly. She knew she was nothing but a witness, and she was just going to tell the police what she had seen, but it still felt like she was going to prison.

"Well," Simon said, slowly, "you don't really have a choice, princess," he said, smiled, and took her hand. While they were walking down the narrow street, Clary took careful sips of her scalding hot coffee, immediately feeling slightly more awake.

"Here we are," Simon said, and walked with her into the reception area of the police station. A lady walked up to them and smiled. It wasn't a warm smile – her lips were tightly pressed together. The smile was only a formality.

"Miss Morgenstern?" She said. She was very fluent in English, Clary thought – she could barely notice any of the characteristic Italian accent most people here had. Clary nodded. "Yes," she replied, and cursed silently when she heard how subdued her voice sounded.

"Please come with me," she said. "Do you have any identification on you?" Clary stopped walking for a second, unsure, but found her driving license in the pocket of her jeans. She didn't really use it – she didn't own a car, but she always carried it around, just in case. "Here," she said, and gave the policewoman the license.

The corners of the policewoman's mouth twitched, and Clary could see the shadow of a real smile on her lips. "Nice picture," she said and handed the license back to Clary. Clary studied her picture for a second, and blushed slightly. Her hair was one large bird nest, she looked pale which made her freckles stand out like small signal lights, and under her wide open eyes there were large, dark blue circles. She looked like a dead raccoon.

"You're not very photogenic, are you, Morgenstern?" Simon said. He had leaned over her shoulder, although he hardly needed to – Simon was at least a head taller than Clary now. She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Oh shut up," she said, "I was ill that day and didn't think about how visible that actually was," she grinned a little. "You brought ice cream and chocolate to me, remember? And then we watched a movie, but I can't remember which…"

"I think we watched the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy."

"Yeah, that's right," she said. "Remember me of how you managed to convince me?"

"Shut up, Morgenstern, you know it's impossible to fool me. You loved every second of it." Clary turned towards him and smirked. "Yeah I did. We should have a Lord of the Rings marathon soon."

"With the Hobbit-movies as well?"

"All right," Clary said with a shrug. They would have to set aside a whole weekend for that, probably. Clary had to admit for herself that she actually looked forward to it. Just her and Simon, like they were kids again.

"In here, miss," the policewoman said, pointing towards an open door that led into a white-painted room. Two of the walls were made up of mostly glass. In the middle of the room there was a table and two chairs on each side of it. Clary swallowed hard. _It's all right_ , she said to herself. _It's all right._

"And you have to wait outside here," the woman said to Simon, who had tried to follow them inside. He looked over at Clary.

"It's all right, Simon," she said to him, and tried to smile reassuringly, but she suspected that it looked like a grimace instead, so she turned around and entered the room. The policewoman entered the room and closed the door behind her.

o.O.o

Clary tossed around in the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position. She had her sketchpad propped up on her knees, a pencil in her hand. Both items felt so familiar, but something was off. She couldn't concentrate. The interview, or whatever she was supposed to call it, at the police station, had gone all right. She had just told what happened, and the policewoman said she would contact her if they had any further questions. Then Simon had taken her home.

Everything was fine. But she still felt like there was something wrong, something missing, something she hadn't told them about. Something important.

No, she thought. She had told them everything, every single detail she could remember. It was good, though, that she had been _interviewed_ only the day after it happened, because the memory of the whole incident was fading quickly. It felt like holding water when your hands were cupped; no matter how tightly you pressed your fingers together, some water trickled out. It was inevitable. It was like her brain was trying to forget in order to protect itself.

Clary sighed and moved the sketchbook from her lap to the table. She had only managed to put a few lines down on the paper. It was late, and her apartment was shrouded in darkness, except for a small lamp on the table next to her. Clary could feel how tired she was, and decided she should go to bed. It was Sunday tomorrow, she remembered, and smiled of the thought that she could lay in bed for a long, long time.

Clary thought she heard a noise outside her balcony, not unlike the sound of gravel under a shoe. She rose from the sofa and walked towards the balcony. The door that led out to it was open, as it usually was late on the evening; the night air was always refreshing. Not like the burning temperatures during daytime, but still far from being cold.

"Jace?" She called out. "Is that you?" She walked out on the balcony. Even though the temperature was pleasant it was still colder than inside, and Clary could feel goosebumps appearing on her arms. "If you are making a habit of this, I swear I'll kill you. And you can sleep in the hallway tonight, I'm not really in the mood for company." There was no reply. The only response Clary got was the whispers of the wind and the slow song of the crickets hiding in the grass several floors below her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, sighed, and turned around to walk in. And in that moment, she could hear the sound of an object hitting the floor behind her. No, she thought, not an object. A person. The sound she had heard was the sound of boots hitting the ground. Not in the way she would have sounded if she had jumped from the roof – that's where the person must have come from – but soft, like a cat.

Clary could feel arms around her suddenly, pressing her body into stone hard muscle. The fabric she felt against her skin was coarse and itched horribly. "Who's Jace?" a voice whispered into her ear. The person turned her around and locked his hands around her wrists. His hair was as silvery as the moon, his eyes darker than a starless night sky. "Hello little sister. I've missed you." A small smirk played with his lips.

"Jonathan?"

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry for the long wait my lovelies! The storyline will pick up a little pace now, so I hope you all enjoy. Please tell me what you thought about this chapter! xx_


	7. Back again!

Hi all!

As you might have noticed, this story has been on ice for a while. Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that I'm back and have started a new chapter! I'll post it soon.

Thank you so much for your patience, favourites and reviews for A City of Silk and Steel and stay tuned! 3


	8. Chapter 7

"Yes, Clarissa, it is me," Jonathan replied impatiently. He still had his arms locked tightly around her body, pressing her into his. Warmth radiated through the thin thermal top he wore.

"Jonathan, I…" Clary's voice hitched, not finding the words she wanted to speak. Suddenly it felt like she had the vocabulary of a four year old, and she didn't manage to express herself at all. "What… what are you doing here?"

"Aren't siblings allowed to visit each other, now?" His voice sounded slightly amused, although Clary couldn't find anything amusing about this situation. "You left New York so suddenly. You didn't even say goodbye." Jonathan's voice was still all giddiness, but Clary could hear the faint sound of hurt beneath it. Jonathan had never been really good at concealing his emotions.

"And you decide to visit me now, one year later?" Clary could hear the lack of trust in her own voice. And how could she trust him?

"Sounds about right."

"You do know I have a door, right? And a doorbell? There's no need for you to climb through my window." Clary could hear a low humming in Jonathan's chest – laughter, Clary realised. Quickly scoping her up in his arms, Jonathan took a couple of long strides over the terrace floor and went inside Clary's apartment.

"Well, I wanted to make sure that you'd let me in," he said, innocence in his voice.

"You succeeded in that at least," Clary said and let out a breath. He still held her tightly, not letting her go. "Not that it seems like I have a choice." Jonathan bent his neck and put his lips to Clary's ear. "You didn't have a choice, stupid. I wanted to see you. I've missed you, little sis." His voice was warm, and Clary relaxed.

"I've missed you too, Jonathan." He let her go and she took a couple of steps back, away from the cold night air and sat down in the sofa. He sat down next to her, and put his feet on the table. Clary made a scowling face but said nothing. Instead she looked at him, at his face, his clothes. He was dressed in tight black clothes and combat boots. If she hadn't known any better, she would have guessed he was a ninja. He looked older, too; he had two-days stubble and in only one year his facial structure had become more defined, more angular – harder. He still looked like himself, though – like her Jonathan. He looked around, his eyes skimming over her furniture. "It's small here," he noted.

"Well, it's perfect for one person," Clary replied. "And the rent is cheap."

"If father had seen this place, he would not have been happy."

"Why not? Besides, dad isn't here," she said, anger seeping into her voice.

"You know why. This place is a dumpster and you are above it." Clary heard the arrogance in her brother's voice. "At least I'm paying for it with my own, hard-earned money," she replied quickly. She could feel the knot in her throat, the frustration rising. She didn't want to argue with him.

"Why are you here, Jonathan? And the truth this time." Clary sounded tired.

"Dad wants you back. I want you back. I miss you, Clary." Jonathan sounded sincere, his voice warm and pleading. Clary's heart melted instantly, but the feeling disappeared instantly. You have to keep rational, Morgenstern, she told herself.

"And why does dad want me back? I'm guessing it isn't fatherly love." Valentine Morgenstern hated her. He always told her she had too much of her mother in her, and too much disregard for rules.

"He wants you back with him. He's… he's received threats. Everyone knows he has a daughter. And your address is not difficult to find."

"Wait, what are you saying? People will try to harm me to get to dad? Everyone knows my father doesn't care about me."

"But he does, Clarissa." Clary swallows. Clarissa. Jonathan only calls her that when he's serious. "And recently, there was a man… Pangborn, who almost succeeded."

"Pangborn? The guy who was… murdered?" The word, murderer, was still difficult for her to say.

"Yes. He was one of dad's narco smugglers, but wanted higher pay." Clarissa swallowed, and didn't ask who killed him. She already knew.

"Jonathan, I can't go back to New York, you know that. I… I can't live like that, it's not for me. I have a life here, I'm studying, I have friends… Dad has made his choice, and I have made mine. I don't want any contact with father, Jonathan. He's the leader of the New York mafia and is probably more dangerous than poor Pangborn would ever be."

Jonathan sighed. "I had a feeling you would say that. However, dad's persistent. He won't give up this time. I came here to try to convince you gently. Father will probably not be so kind."

Clary heard three knocks at the door. They were hard, sharp and rhythmic, and she thought they almost had to be practiced to make them sound so… professional. She could guess who it was. Not now, not now, not now. Jonathan raised his eyebrows and look at her. "Who's that, are you expecting someone?"

Clary shrugged. "I have no idea," she said, and hoped it sounded convincing. She raised from the sofa and went over to the door and opened it barely so she could peek out. Jace's tawny, golden eyes were as penetrating and intense as always. "Hey, I was just stepping by to see how you were doing after yestr – wait, are you blocking my view? Are you alone?"

Clary blushed. "Jace, this really isn't a good time," she hissed. "Do you have _male_ company?" Jace said in a teasing tone, but Clary thought she could hear a little jealousy. She quickly tried to forget the thought – it had to be wrong. The door opened behind her and she jumped. Jonathan had silently walked up to her, without her noticing. He put a hand forward.

"Hello. I'm Jonathan Morgenstern, Clarissa's brother." Jonathan and Jace shook hands, and Jace seemed to relax. But at the same time, Clary could see a sudden alertness in his eyes. Why? She thought, but had no answer to the question.

"I didn't know you had a brother, Clary," Jace said. His voice was strange and flat. Clary shrugged and tried to sound casual. "Well, now you know I do."

"Well I don't mean to interrupt the family reunion, so…" Jace moved away from the door.

"Never mind," Jonathan said, "I was just about to leave anyways," he smiles, but it didn't reach his eyes. He wedged himself in between Clary and Jace. His face was close to hers. "Don't trust anyone, okay? Not Simon, and not this Jace. I and father will come next week. Be ready." He pulled away from her, and walked away quickly. In less than 30 seconds she could no longer hear his steps in the staircase and it was as if he had never been there that evening at all. Clary's eyes were wide open, but she wasn't entirely sure why. She loved his brother, and she knew he cared for her, too, but he could be so intimidating sometimes.

She looked over at Jace, who smiled warily. "Nice to see your brother again?" Clary nodded. "So, what did he want?" Jace said casually, but there was something in his voice that made Clary furrow her eyebrows.

"Nothing," Clary said lightly and tried to sound convincing, "He just asked me if I wanted to come back with him to New York to meet dad again."

Suddenly Jace tensed and had his attention completely on her. "And what did you say?"

"Why?" Clary asked. "Would you miss me?"

Jace quickly shook his head. "I got to go," he mumbled quickly and turned around. Clary leaned out of her apartment, and yelled: "I said no, by the way!"

But Jace had already closed the door to his apartment.

I'm really sorry for the short chapter! It was the only place that felt natural to end it! I also promise more action and less talking soon... :) So I've dropped the bomb - Valentine is the head of the NYC mafia! What do you think? I'll be back with more later 3


	9. Chapter 8

Jace was in the largest library at the university, reading a book about Frederic Chopin, one of his favourite classical composers. The corners of his mouth tugged. At least he had chosen to study a subject he enjoyed, even though it was all pretence. He already had an education, a job. He gazed discreetly over the pages of the book he was reading, and over at the read-headed, hunched figure bent over a massive art book. His job, his subject, and – hopefully not, Jace thought – his target. It was hard to difficult to imagine that this girl, with her fiery red, bird nest hair, golden, soft freckles scattered over her nose and sparkling green eyes was the daughter of one of the most wanted criminals in the US. But she was. He found his phone in his pocket, but just as he was about to message Alec, someone stopped next to him.

"Hey," a feminine voice said. Jace looked up and stared at a young woman's face, probably a few years younger than him. Probably around Clary's age, Jace thought. She had black, glossy hair, dark hair, flawless olive skin and dark eyes. Pretty. "I'm hosting a party on Friday, and I was just wondering if you wanted to come? Normally I don't invite people personally but just let the word spread, but I thought giving you a personal invite would be more… intimate," she said, staring directly into Jace's eyes. Jace replied with a smirk. He could see where this would lead. "Sure, I'll come."

"Great!" she replied, enthusiastically. "Here's my number, by the way. Just text me your number and I'll send you the location." She handed him a small note that smelled suspiciously good, Jace thought – it was probably perfumed. The girl turned around and went back to the table where she came from, where five, equally gorgeous girls sat. She said something to them in a low voice, and they all began giggling and looked over at Jace. He winked.

Turning back at his book, he saw a glimpse of Clary rolling her eyes in disgust. Probably because of the way Jace had flirted with that girl, he thought. Clary had no reason to judge him, Jace thought angrily. It was his life, and they were not even friends. Despite of this, he felt guilty somehow, and deep in his chest a tight knot had formed. He looked down at his hands. They were large, with defined veins and slim fingers, lined with narrow, silvery scars. Oh, he was supposed to text Alec, he suddenly remembered.

"Meet me in the library. Bring Izzy." He pressed send.

He had not read one chapter in his book before Alec and Isabelle came into the library and sat down next to him.

"So, what's up?" Isabelle said in a cheerful voice. She was dressed elegantly, in slim black jeans and ankle boots, with a minimalistic, slouchy turtleneck, looking slouchy the way only designer clothes could look slouchy. A tape measure hung casually over her shoulders, and Jace realised she came straight from a sewing class – she was usually in a very good mood after that. When they had gotten their new assignments and had to study something, both Jace and Isabelle had decided to study something fun and creative, something they wouldn't have the time for otherwise, so Jace had chosen music and Isabelle studied Fashion design. After all, they already had safe jobs so it didn't really matter. Alexander, however, had chosen to study law. Jace repressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"I met Clary's brother last night," Jace said. "Jonathan."

Alec widened his eyes. "What? Did you hear anything?" Izzy leaned forward in anticipation.

"Well," Jace began, "I heard voices through the wall, and the male voice didn't sound like the weasel's…" Both Alec and Isabelle stared at him with confused expressions, "I mean, Simon, so I went over to her apartment to see, but when he saw me he was suddenly in a hurry to leave. I stood outside the door for a while before I knocked, though, and I heard something about going back to New York."

"Do you think they are planning anything? We can't let her leave, you know that Jace."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Of course, I know that Alec, we need her."

"Have you gotten anything out of her yet?" Isabelle said, surprisingly stern.

"No… She's quite reserved."

"Then get to know her better," Isabelle sighed with frustration. "Just do whatever you have to do."

"As long as you don't get personally attached of course," Alec said, while studying his nails, as if he found something incredibly interesting beneath one of them.

"Getting girls to like me is _not_ a problem. This girl is just so… irritating."

"What, has she denied you?" Isabelle grinned widely, while Alec looked astonished. "Really?" He asked with a confused face. "When did that last happen?" Isabelle mumbled.

"She hasn't _denied_ me," Jace said angrily. "Last time that happened I was 17 and I was very drunk. It was during that Christmas party in Brooklyn. I think I had antlers on my head," he added, almost like an afterthought.

"Well, get to the business," Alec said, impatiently. "You have to find out what's going on with her, and quickly. If she's involved in anything, what she knows. Whatever it takes."

Jace nodded. "I know," he said. He knew how important it was to get her to talk. He looked over at Clary, and Isabelle noticed it.

"Hard to believe anything so small and seemingly innocent could be a criminal, isn't it?" Jace nodded. She had slender limbs and her fingers turned the pages in her book gently. She seemed completely lost in her book. Perhaps the others were right, that she really was a wolf in sheepskin. He found it hard to believe. "If feels weird talking about her when she's only a couple of metres away from us," Isabelle commented. Alec nodded. "Yeah, it really is."

o.O.o

Clary was lying on her sofa with her feet propped comfortably over the armrest when someone knocked on her door. She growled silently. It was probably Simon – he had already checked in on her three times that day. He needed something new every time. He had, apparently, forgotten to buy groceries so he asked her for some eggs so he could make an omelette, toilet paper and the first Naruto manga – he wanted to re-read it, as he said. As if he hadn't read Naruto around 1000 times already. Clary suspected he was just checking if she was okay after the last days. She had told him about the surprise visit from Jonathan, as well – she just hadn't told him what he wanted.

Simon didn't know much about Clary's family, except that her parents were unhappily married, her father was a successful and very wealthy businessman and that Clary absolutely despised her father. There was a knock in the door again. She grunted and rose from the sofa. Her creative juices were finally flowing and Simon had to interrupt her again. She would never get any work done in this pace.

"What is it, Simon?" She said as she opened the door. But it wasn't Simon standing outside her door, it was Jace. He was barefoot, dressed in worn-out jeans, a grey hoodie and his eyes were glittering with something Clary thought was mischief. "Hey," he said and grinned.

"Heeey," Clary said slowly, uncertainty in her voice. "Why are you barefoot? You know, I think Simon puked right where you are standing once."

"Ewww," Jace said and wrinkled his nose. "Then let me in woman." Clary stepped back and let Jace slip inside before she closed the door.

"Not to be rude, but… what do you want, Jace?" Clary said. "It's kinda late and I'm tired, to be honest."

"I came to apologise." He seemed sincere, Clary thought. "For what?" She said, curiously. Jace had done a lot of stupid things since he moved in, but she couldn't remember anything specific stupidity of late.

He shrugged. "Just in general. I've been a major jerk since I moved in here."

Clary widened her eyes. "What? Did I actually hear some guilt? Some remorse?" She couldn't even have imagined in her wildest dreams that Jace could apologise to anyone. He smiled. "Yeah. And I even brought you something. A white flag." He grinned, and for the first time Clary noticed the small box he held by his side. "Ice cream?" She said, excitement creeping into her voice. "Who told you I loved ice cream?"

"Well, I might have passed your sparkly-haired friend in the hallway. He told me." Jace walked into the kitchen and began opening drawers at random. "Ah," he said, as he had found a treasure and pulled out two spoons. Clary sat down on the floor next to the sofa and leaned her head back on the armrest. Jace looked funnily at her. "What?" she said and giggled. "I love sitting on the floor."

Jace walked over to her and sat down next to her, graceful like a cat. "Screw Ben & Jerrys," Jace said, "This Italian stuff is the best." Clary nodded enthusiastically. Jace had bought one with vanilla and the other was a rich, dark chocolate. She put her spoon in the chocolate one and took a big bite. It was delicious.

"To friendship?" Jace said, his voice serious.

"To friendship," Clary agreed. She took another large spoonful. It felt like Christmas. She had always loved ice cream as a child. It was the one common thing she had with her father. Her father, Valentine. She quickly tried to shake off the thought and took some more ice cream while trying to think of something else. She became aware of how close she sat to Jace: the sleeve of his hoodie brushed her the bare skin of her arm and she could feel the heat radiating off him. In her dimly lit apartment his eyelashes and hair became a dark gold and dramatic shadows spread over his face. She thought about the ambivalence in his personality – sometimes he was rash and cold, all business, while other times he was warm and caring.

"You're staring at me. Why are you staring at me?" Jace said and turned towards her, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"You have some ice cream here," Clary said, and automatically, without thinking, she reached out to wipe away the small speck of ice cream below his lip. Jace reacted immediately, so quickly she almost jumped. He gripped her hand and Clary prepared herself to have her hand torn away, but he just held it there. His body was tense, rigid, his fingers comparable to iron. And then, as if on command, his body relaxed and he pressed her hand closer to his cheeks and closed his eyes. He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Clary, I can't…" He mumbled.

"You can't what?" Clary said, confused. She barely breathed, as if the noise from her lungs inhaling and exhaling air would interrupt them. He opened his eyes and stared at her, his gaze burning. His golden eyes locked with her green.

"Fuck the rules," He said, and in a moment he had dragged her into his lap, and his lips were on hers.


End file.
